Onion
I am peeling the onion
The first layer is silver red
Ok, itís a pleasure to help her in the kitchen
An overburdened wife is a burden
With children ready to go to school
Myself ready for office
And I peel the onion
The aroma of her food is inviting
I peel the next layer of the onion
Layer after layer
Color fades
And turns white
A petrified sight
A beautiful morning
Eyes begin to dampen
Onions dampen my eyes
It's not easy to peel onions
A mastermind created every layer
Joined them together
With an art of nature
And with a care of the man
I go on peeling
Onion has a secret
It secretes dampness in eyes
Something to be sorry for
"Hey", she calls,
"What the hell are you doing?
Peel it, ya!"
Layers unfold
A manifold curiosity
Now! It is edible!
The tender innerself of the onion
I take it to my lips
To put it on my tongue
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The poem is a metaphysical wonder. A commonplace object and a very earthy job is pushed up to transcend the here and the now. The passion for subtle sexual imagery is unmistakable. The act of rasing the onion to the lips (rather than to the mouth) to put the kernel of the onion on to the tongue (not in the mouth) is a forceful sexual union achieved through a passionate cunnilingus, I suppose. The poet seems to be reliving his passionate youth. It is a reverie.
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